


Laying in the Light

by Shoshanna Gold (shoshannagold)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-14
Updated: 2009-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshannagold/pseuds/Shoshanna%20Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: garden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laying in the Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction based on characters in the HBO miniseries.
> 
> Thanks to [](http://mydocuments.livejournal.com/profile)[**mydocuments**](http://mydocuments.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

Nate had dismissed his staff early today, determined that for once they'd get to enjoy the long weekend. He'd been tempted to stay at work and take advantage of the peace and quiet of an empty office. Their current round of projects had been eating away all his time and there was a veritable mountain of administrative paperwork on his desk, but his assistant had given him the evil eye, and, well, it would be damn hypocritical of him to preach about the necessity of a work-life balance and then not try to maintain one himself. Instead he'd grabbed a couple of stacks of paperwork to work on at home. There wasn't much point in having endured months of renovations if he wasn't going to use the study that had resulted from them, and, fuck, it wasn't like there was anybody around to distract him this weekend.

Indeed, the house was resonantly empty when he let himself in. Over the last couple of months he'd trained himself not to call out to let Brad know he was home, the silence echoing back at him a sharp reminder that nobody else was there. Instead he called for Midget, who usually came to greet him when he got home. It wasn't that she was that well-trained – even former Marine officers couldn't make a cat follow orders – but by the way she wound herself around his ankles and purred he thought that maybe she was lonely, too.

"Christ, Fick, enough with the self-pity," he said out loud, dropping his briefcase and bending down to scoop Midget up. That was how things were and griping about them, even to himself, wouldn't make anything better. He was a Marine. He made do. And now that he was done with the bullshit moto speech, he should get something to eat and go for the run he'd skipped this morning.

He'd left the windows open this morning and as he walked through the house, Midget nestled comfortably in his arms, he could hear the comforting sounds of the neighbourhood: kids playing in the pool next door, the jingle of a bicycle bell, the sound of somebody mowing their lawn. Except – that sounded like it they were mowing his grass, given how sharp and loud the motor was. Strange, the gardening service wasn't supposed to come until Tuesday. It didn't much matter to him on what day of the week the grass got cut so long as it happened at some point, but it was a small, family-owned business, and they were incredibly customer-service oriented, so he was surprised he hadn't gotten a call.

Well, it couldn't hurt to check in with whoever was mowing his lawn, make sure everything was okay. It was usually Tony, the owner's son, who'd been contemplating a career in the military; the last time Nate had seen him he was trying to decide between Army or Navy ROTC. He put Midget on the sofa, apologizing to her when she mewled at him, and went out the patio doors to the backyard to take another one for the team.

The noise from the lawnmower was further away now and Nate was walking toward the far side of the house when the mower came out from behind the garage.

It wasn't Tony.

It was Brad. Brad, in nothing but old cut-offs and flip-flops, all of him glowing golden in the sun, even though his arms and neck were much darker than his torso. Brad, covered with the lightest film of sweat, with bits of grass stuck to his legs, the strong muscles in his abs flex as he pushed the mower. Brad, who stopped what he was doing, the sound from the machine going quiet as he let go of it and smiled at Nate, looking as genuinely happy as Nate had ever seen him, before his expression turned more predatory.

Nate's brain short-circuited for a second. When it came back online, Brad was walking toward him, his stride purposeful, and Nate flashed on him ten years ago walking through the desert as though he owned it, covered head to toe in a MOPP suit, M4 by his side. Nate's then, and Nate's now, he thought as Brad reached him.

"You're not the gardener," Nate said.

"Did you want me to be?" Brad quirked an eyebrow and grinned.

Nate tried a different tact. "You're home early."

"Caught the red eye out of Seoul."

Nate shook his head and grinned, his smile felt like it might split his face. "You're home a _month_ early," he clarified.

"We were compromised and they had to get us out of there. Don't worry: nobody was hurt. Intel got wind of it before any shit came down. I'll tell you more about it later." Brad moved closer, and lifted a hand to Nate's face, cupping it for a minute and looking at him intently before drawing him in for a kiss.

Five months. Five months since Nate had touched Brad, had his hands on this body, this mouth open to his. Brad was right, they could talk later. Right then, he just needed to touch. He moved closer and wrapped his arms around Brad, smoothing his hands over Brad's tattoo, enjoying the feeling of the inked skin, wet from the heat. He kept his hands moving, though, touching the firm hard muscles wherever he could reach until touch wasn't enough and he needed to taste, too. He pulled away from the kiss and sucked at Brad's jaw, down his neck, biting at the collarbone and inhaling deeply. Brad smelled like fresh cut grass and sunlight, like he hadn't spent the last five months stealing through rice paddies in cammies.

Brad only let him do that for a minute before he tugged at Nate's hair, pulling him into another soul-deep kiss. He made a hungry noise into his mouth and brought his hands down to Nate's waist, tugging his shirt out from his pants and sliding a hand under it, caressing the small of Nate's back before reaching further down, slipping a hand under the band of his boxers.

Oh, fuck. Brad's fingers were hovering over the top of the cleft of Nate's ass, just barely brushing down into it before coming back up and Nate was already rock hard. He shamelessly rubbed against the thigh between his legs, one hand clenching Brad's hip, the other doing some recon of its own, groping Brad's ass, reaching down to touch that smooth thigh, before pushing up underneath the leg of the cut-offs. His first assessment had been correct: Brad was freeballing.

He wanted to drop to his knees and taste there too, get Brad's cock so deep down his throat he was gagging on it, all those months of separation and there was nothing that could take the place of that feeling, certainly not phone sex stolen on those rare occasions that Brad could shake the men and Nate could close his office door. But Brad wouldn't let him, his grip firm on Nate's arm as he pulled away from the kiss.

"A little patience, Nate, and you can have whatever you want." His tone was ragged and the need on his face was humbling, and Nate had to kiss him again, had to feel that breath in his own lungs. But Brad was pulling away again, his hands stroking up Nate's chest before he took Nate's cotton dress shirt in both hands and tugged, ripping it down the middle, the buttons flying away as if in protest.

Nate had dozens of shirts, and there wasn't one of them he wouldn't sacrifice to see Brad look at him like that as he tossed the ripped garment to the grass, the need on his face an echo of Nate's own.

"I am going to fuck you until you can't remember what it was like to not have my cock shoved up your ass," Brad promised, his hands going to Nate's chest, thumbing his nipples roughly. "I hope you don't have plans this weekend, sir, because I am prepared to tell everybody from the Commander-in-Chief on down that you can't come out to play because you're on your hands and knees for me, spread wide while I open you with my fingers and lick you clean with my tongue, just so I can make you messy all over again. You're going to be fucking filthy, Nate, covered with spunk and spit, and, Christ, so open for me."

Brad was pinching Nate's nipples as he spoke, twisting with that rhythm that Nate loved, and between the exquisite pain that throbbed through him and what Brad was saying to him, Nate broke. He pulled away, knowing it would throw Brad off just enough for Nate to take advantage of the element of surprise. He tackled Brad, sending them both down to the ground.

Brad being Brad, though, immediately turned the situation to his own advantage, rolling them fast so that he was on top, straddling Nate. "Never let is be said that you don't take what you want," he said, grinning and lowering himself so that he was braced on his hands by Nate's head, so close Nate could see every laugh line around his eyes, could map for himself the impact of this latest tour on Brad.

"I want _you_," Nate said, "I'm pretty sure that I was clear on that point, but in case I wasn't, let me show you." He ground up into Brad, and pulled him down that last inch to fuse their mouths together, fucking Brad's mouth with his tongue while reaching down to get his hand back under the cut-offs, prepared to take this all the way right the fuck now.

Suddenly cold water fell on him, a torrent soaking his face and chest, and the surprise of it shocked Nate out of his lust; there hadn't been a cloud in the sky five minutes ago. More water fell on them and Brad shook his head and rolled off Nate with a string of curses that would do Marines everywhere proud.

The water stopped and Nate heard giggling. Looking around the yard, he saw his neighbor's eight year old standing at the open gate between their yard and the next one, holding a hose and laughing at them. Her mother, Claire, rushed up behind her. "I'm so sorry," she said, though she was laughing, too. "She saw her dad do that last week to a dog that'd gotten into the yard and was trying to, well, you know, with her puppy, and it must have made a lasting impression. I really am sorry!"

"The fact that you're both laughing your asses off negates the sincerity of your apology," Brad said, getting up and going over to the fence. "Nate and I might have to build that security fence after all."

"Well, then your hydrangeas won't look nearly as nice as they do," Claire said, reaching up and hugging Brad. "I'm glad you're home, but you might want to be careful with the free sex shows. Mrs. Pauley's already way too interested in Nate's ass for an eighty-eight year old woman. She could go into cardiac arrest from the sheer thrill of it."

Nate had stayed sprawled on the grass, too boneless for the moment to muster the effort to be polite, since he knew Claire wouldn't care anyway. He looked over at the rows of flowers that edged the yard. The hydrangeas were indeed doing beautifully.

He lay back in the grass, watching as Brad swung Jerrie up in his arms, the little girl squealing with delight, and heard Claire invite them for dinner, if they could tear themselves away from each other long enough to eat. Brad accepted, as Nate had known he would. They weren't alone, no matter how far apart they were from each other, and what they'd started, rolling around in the grass, would always be there, all the better for a couple of hours more wait.


End file.
